You let your fingertips wander to my forearms, brushing over them so gently that I probably wouldn’t be able to feel anything if it wasn’t for the fact that I know them like they’re attached to me instead;
I know them so well in fact, I can tell by the way you’re leaning in closer that they’re about to meet my face any second now, and I can hardly wait.
Your reassuring palms rest eagerly on my burning cheeks as you close the minuscule gap between us, my heart instantly leaping into it’s rehearsed routine of spinning, twirling, and dancing like it’s not at least the thousandth time you’ve done this;
I know I should be used to this familiar proximity by now, but I hope to God I never get tired of the way every bit of you was made to fit with me.
You pull back so you can look at me, eyes squinting just slightly like you’re trying to figure me out while you chew on a corner of your rose-colored lips: a habit you’ve formed for the moments you’re particularly infatuated with me;
I used to look away in embarrassment, but soon enough I couldn’t deny that I would give anything to stay like this as long as I continue to live and breathe, our eyes intwined in a metaphorical conversation I’m not even sure I always understand.
Your feet shuffle toward mine, toes brushing against toes because you’re trying to get as close as humanly possible;
I grab your shoulders, steadying myself on top of your feet and you let out a faint chuckle presumably because you’ve always told me that you can never predict what I’m going to do next.
You grab my waist with a certain brand of unique gentle force that only you could possibly master, and while I try to use every bit of restraint in me to let you speak first, I can’t help myself;
I whisper loud enough for only you to hear despite our obvious seclusion, “Dance with me,” because we’re past the pleasantry of needing to ask when we both know it’s the only possible action that could make a moment like this better.
Your lips curve into a lopsided grin while your head tilts indistinctly, continuing to stare at me with a hint of wonder because you can’t comprehend how I always say what you’re thinking before you can even finish the thought;
I tangle my arms around you, tighter now even though I know you won’t let me down, so they’re brushing the sides of your neck which makes your shoulders shudder under the weight of my arms;
You mimic the pounding of my heart as you begin to spin me, twirl me, dance with me, not because it’s simply the romantic thing to do in the heat of a nice moment, but because it wouldn’t be right to do anything else.
I close my eyes and smile, reveling in it all: how perfectly content I am and will undoubtedly be for the rest of my life in entangled harmony with you.
Your hands are allowed to stay in my hands, on my arms, around my waist, wherever they want to be for as long as they like;
I open my eyes, but my heart plummets as far into my stomach as it will go because the sheer reality of a disappointing truth has ripped me from my dream.
You aren’t here, we aren’t dancing, and your hands and every part of you that I thought I could feel with unwavering certainty is gone.
I was merely fantasizing like I’ve done everyday since the first time you took me by surprise because I awoke to find that you had disappeared.
Your hands are only a memory now, as I am deniably aware they will remain.
I haven’t been able to control my incessant dreaming regardless of whether I’m falling asleep in my unmade bed or if I’m sitting at my desk wondering where you are, forever dancing on top of the feet that guided me to a home that no longer exists.
You have been etched, burned, into my brain with permanent charcoal.
I will never, nor do I ever want to, forget the unmistakable and agonizingly tangible feeling of you and I.